Mind Your Surroundings
by KitCat Italica
Summary: Sequel to Apologize for the World. Batman makes a critical mistake, and the repercussions will haunt him and the Joker for the rest of their lives. B/J slash, includes NSFW non-con sodomy. If you squick, you were warned.


Mind Your Surroundings

**WARNING: WHAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO READ CHRONICLES GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF NON-CONSENTUAL ORAL SODOMY AND ANAL RAPE BY USE OF A KNIFE. IF YOU WOULD RATHER NOT READ ABOUT SUCH THINGS, GO BACK NOW. **

**I certainly don't blame you – as I type this I'm about to start that part, and it's getting difficult for me to summon up the balls to even WRITE this stuff. But if you'd rather chug through it for the sake of B/J slash, go ahead. But don't say I didn't warn you. **

**(And if you were wondering, don't worry, the rape does not concern Batman AND Joker. That would be violating my principles of their relationship, as I am ardently against fics that have one of them forcing themselves upon the other. Just in case you were concerned about that.)**

**Now on with the sickening, disgusting, heartbreaking show.**

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Batman chased after the man that had attempted to mug a lady half an hour ago. The criminal had cornered the poor woman, but had sighted the caped figure on the ledge of the rooftop above his head before any cash could be taken. The crime aborted, he had hurriedly darted away, and the detective had been in hot pursuit across the city skyline ever since.

This one wasn't giving up easy. He was a better runner than most, taking the most obscure twists and turns through the maze of the city's alleys almost too fast for the Batman to keep up with him. Almost too fast. But half an hour of all-out sprinting was certainly making him weary, and he was now jogging half-heartedly and mumbling to himself under his breath, words his pursuer couldn't make out, nor did he want to. He had never particularly cared for the ravings of criminals. All he was focused on now was to get this job done and return to the MCU for an update from Gordon.

By now they had reached the pier, well into the Narrows and on the edge of the ocean. Rows and columns of cargo crates lent themselves to the dodges and random turns of the mugger. But Batman's mind was faster than his, and with a flying hurdle he landed neatly in front of the runaway's path, cape fanned behind him.

Panting, the man stumbled to a halt and locked eyes with his opponent. Locked eyes – and smiled. And with that smile, Batman's memory brought to life that of a similar smile, and a similar knowing, arrogant voice.

_You never did learn to mind your surroundings._

Men jumped out from seventeen different directions behind him, stifling him with their arms and fists, directly pinning him down. The microsecond window of time for him to react and take control of the situation, as he usually did, was stolen by his confusion in light of the sudden memory of Ra's al Ghul. Knocked to his knees and winded with the sudden blows, he found his arms forced to hold up his upper body, unable to move with the weight of four strong men holding each of them in place. Knees ground forcefully into his hands, sending crushing pain up his arms and rendering his attempts to free himself ultimately futile. Four men were also present for each leg, employing their full weight in any means necessary to ensure he couldn't maneuver his other two limbs, either. His blood flow constricted, he found he could barely even _feel_ his legs anymore, let alone move them.

"Well, well, well," came a voice in the vicinity of his right, "looks like we've caught ourselves a bat, eh, boys?" The men all cackled around him, and he tried to use their moment of preoccupation to wrest himself out of their grips. But it was no use; surprisingly, these men could laugh at their leader's comments while keeping their missions at the forefront of their minds.

The man who had been running for the past half hour – effectively leading the crusader into this trap – now panted even harder, able to finally catch a breather now that his job was completed. The leader who had spoken thumped him on the back for his job well done, and said, "You can go, if you want." But he shook his head, indicating he'd rather stay and watch.

Watch…?

"Well, if you say so," said the leader. "After all, you deserve it, just as much as anyone else here." His fellows all growled their agreement, still not severing their holds on Batman.

"After all," the leader continued, as he made his way to stand directly in front of the hero-turned-captive, "doesn't _everyone_ in this town deserve to witness, to be a part of, what we're here to do?"

Batman raised his eyes squarely up to the leering young man, not backing down. In the interim, he attempted to figure out any signs of distraction that he could exploit to break free, making sure to also survey his surroundings in the distance for any additional insight. None forthcoming, he continued to keep his eyes locked on his captor. If the guy gave anything away, it might be useful.

The young man – he couldn't be older than twenty-two, maybe fresh out of college if he'd had the chance to attend – bent forward to meet his eyes an inch from Batman's. "You're not gonna kick our brothers around every night anymore," he hissed, and spat in the masked man's face. Batman didn't flinch. But neither did his restrainers.

A bit inwardly disappointed he hadn't procured a more cowardly reaction from the detective, the young man still kept himself unfazed, and sneered. "First thing's first," he grinned cruelly, and whipped out a pair of heavy-duty electrical gloves that he slipped on his hands. "Let's see who's behind the mask."

Batman stiffened slightly at those words, to the laughter and jeers of his captors. Desperately, his mind raced for any last-minute tactics to gain the advantage over the seventeen men, but nothing was coming to him. There was no way out. But he still frantically tried to whip up some kind of escape plan, _anything_, as he felt the gloves tug at the edges of his cowl, high-voltage security system rendered useless…

The men's hearts all skipped a few beats as the cowl gave way to their enemy's brown locks and handsome features. The mask dropped with a thud in front of Bruce Wayne's face, but the leader didn't bother to pick it up. They all stared at him, knocked speechless. Until the leader began to laugh.

"…Bruce Wayne?" he babbled out between giggles, the hilarity of this unforeseen outcome spreading onto his comrades as their chortles crept up along with his. "_Bruce Wayne?_" he said again, true mirth overtaking them all – it was as if the mask had revealed Kanye West or Leo DiCaprio, so _absurd_ was the notion. Bruce Wayne, the star of the tabloids and favorite among supermodels, the drunken arsonist and notorious ladies' man…was really the goddamn _Batman?_

The young man doubled over laughing, but his underlings still held their place on their captive's limbs, much to Bruce's frustrations. They must have been specifically instructed to never slacken their holds no matter what the circumstance; only that sort of meticulous planning and dedication could have yielded such impossible results as this. But that must have meant that…they had been planning this for weeks, even _months_. And if their motives had anything to do with what their leader's words had indicated, they were brought here by vengeance, nothing more or less than an unadulterated vengeance that he himself was all too familiar with. He knew how powerful it could be. These men would stop at nothing to get what they wanted.

…what _did_ they want?

The man's hysterics had calmed down, but he was still shaking his head and wiping tears from his eyes at the ridiculous riddle of Gotham that he had just solved. But unable to resist any further humiliation, he continued.

"What, did burning down your mansion one day just make you snap?" His lackeys roared with laughter. Bruce stared at him coldly, searching for his opportunity.

"Or maybe touching all the girls just wasn't enough for you?" The hooligans burst even further into outrageous guffaws at this. But it seemed their leader had brought himself to his next point with this statement. "Really, was that it?" he asked. His foot had begun drawing a little circle in the gravel, and Bruce began following it with his eyes, looking for the moment to strike.

"I think maybe that's why," he continued quietly. The men's chuckling rose with each statement. "You've gotta be compensating for _something_ with all that armor. Maybe you wanted to spend your nights…touching all the _boys_?"

They all laughed, using any free elbows to jab at each other at the reference to their constant inside joke that they speculated the Batman to be a fag. Of course it was all rubbish, so Bruce didn't listen to them – he'd never seriously lusted after any man in his life, as Batman or otherwise.

…with one very purple exception.

A wide grin had spread over the young leader's face, as Bruce duly noted as he brought his eyes back up to the suddenly silent man. Still no opportunities had presented themselves to him to make his move and free himself. This group was proving just how powerful the thought of revenge could be. A revenge that suddenly shone so wickedly bright in this young man's eyes that Bruce felt the first twinges of dread rise in his gut.

With such a ferocity that caught the captive knight completely off-guard, the young man leapt forward and yanked on Bruce's hair with his right hand, forcing his head up painfully. While his left hand moved to the zipper of his pants.

"Well, if that's what you _really_ want, why don't you just _take it?_" he roared, so savage and at the same time so mocking that the men around him rose up in laughter again, egging him on. But behind their laughter always remained the deep-rooted hatred, and their ultimate purpose that was now making itself clear to their captive.

Humiliation. Utter and total humiliation.

Suddenly there were testicles in his face, and hoots and mocking contempt surrounding him. He had to squeeze his eyes shut against the violating flesh, but that also robbed him of his ability to look out for the moment to escape. He attempted to twist his face away, but the hand on his hair held him in place, causing each jerk of his neck to send pain-wracked repercussions on his scalp. The men were all in cahoots at what the display had reduced him to, but he wasn't giving up his so-far futile fight yet. The first hints of squirming crept into his muscles, in one last bitter tactic to free himself from this torture. But they had expected this, and held on tighter than ever.

Then, as the soft organ jutted against his face in ridicule, the hand on his hair yanked upward without warning, and the unwitting cry of pain escaped his lips involuntarily. Before he could curse himself for the sign of submission, the action's purpose manifested itself, as the leader's manhood was shoved inside his briefly-opened mouth. He choked in alarm and protest as the raucous jeers reached their loudest volume yet, so triumphant and tickled by the vulnerable state they had reduced Gotham's protector to.

"Oh, yeah baby, oh!" exclaimed the leader in wild ridicule, to the boundless amusement of his comrades. Bruce's eyes were still squeezed shut. At this point, the defenses he had plastered around his mind to remain defiant in the men's attack on him had become absolute, shutting out acceptance of reality in full. This was not happening, his mind insisted, for the penis shoved in his unwilling mouth could not be jarring up and down on his tongue that attempted to slither out of the line of fire. He was not held down by the combined strength of sixteen men with indomitable wills, with his bare face free to the night air to top it all off. No. It wasn't happening. It _couldn't be happening…_

"Can you imagine the Riddler here?" the young man called out to his laughing companions. "Or Two Face?" They all brought their cackles to a staggering volume at that, knowing full well of the rumors that Harvey Dent had once worked with the Batman to bring down the mob.

"Or…_the Joker?_"

That was what brought down the house. The men all wailed out their hysteria to the heavens above, struggling to breathe against their laughter caused by the simply _hilarious_ image of the Batman sucking off the Joker. In fact, had Bruce been paying attention at all, he would have found his fleeting opportunity in their briefly slackened grips to break free and thrash them all to a pulp.

But at the mention of the Joker taking the man's place, Bruce's heart had frozen in his chest as a sudden electric jolt of heat shocked through his entire body. The sudden images that flashed all in the window of a split second through his mind sent the slightest quiver through his limbs, his back trembling with what he had started more and more often to consider and dream of. Memories then surfaced, to the burning apartment complex, warm and scarlet lips against his, to the roof of the MCU, another fleshy organ held in his hand for the briefest moment, far better than anything his assailant could ever hope to possess…

His slight trembling did not go unnoticed by his captors, increasing the jeers and catcalls among them. Their grips tightened cruelly once again, and their leader, noticing his victim's change in demeanor, drawled out, "Well, it's about time, wouldn't you say, boys?" The knowing light in his eyes brought the deepest chuckles from his companions, as Bruce heard something behind him. Their grips had shifted, still unbreakable as ever, but four of them had removed one hand each. He wondered what it meant, until he heard the unmistakable sound of knives being unsheathed.

They hacked at his armor mercilessly, slicing loose the clasps that attached the plates of Kevlar together, prying them apart off his body. Once they got to the mesh, they sawed and tore as if it meant nothing. When they at last abated their actions once their leader commanded "That'll do," his skin was bared from his knees to the middle of his back, cape shredded to ribbons.

The forgotten runaway who had stuck around to watch the irreverent display then stepped forward towards the group. Still gagged by the leader's teasing cock, Bruce barely took note of his approach.

Until he released the carving knife from the confines of his jacket.

The others whistled at the glinting blade, as its wielder made his way to the back of the entourage, behind Bruce.

Behind him…

Bruce's eyes widened slightly.

He lost all inhibitions of stealth at that moment as desperation truly sunk in. This _was_ happening, and something even worse was, he feared, _about_ to happen. But it couldn't, not that. He wrestled and squirmed violently against the men that held his limbs in place, pitching his head from side to side in his attempt to free himself from the grip on his hair that held him in place to receive the oral rape he was being subjected to. His antics proved hopeless, however, and caused his captors to reel in their cackles even further. But still he wouldn't give up, for this wasn't going to happen, it _wasn't_ –

A hand on his shoulder from behind, then the knife plunged into him, tearing through his entrance with brute force.

Bruce screamed around his gag, and his eyes blurred with spontaneous tears.

The knife withdrew, then dove into him again, this time at a slightly different angle to sustain as much damage as possible.

The madmen around him whooped their approval at each thrust in, joined in rhythm at the mocking thrusts of the leader into Bruce's mouth. He could feel his own blood seeping out of his body, trickling down his thighs and spattering onto the unforgiving gravel. With each vain attempt at struggling free, the men gripped tighter, and the knife stabbed deeper. It was cutting dangerously close to his prostate now, and with any more damage he would eventually bleed out. If he didn't become severely dehydrated first from the profuse amount of tears that were welling up in his eyes.

On and on the rhythm of thrust, stab, scream, laugh echoed around his consciousness, each time drilling further and further against his deepest defenses. Each stirring up the most random of memory montages: Falcone's men punching him in the bar, Chill being shot outside the courtroom, the man in the Nepalese prison whacking him, Harvey Dent shooting him, falling to the emergency stairs after first talking to Gordon, Rachel kissing him, crashing down the elevator as his mansion went up in flames…

"I think he wants it!" mocked one of his captors, to the exuberant approval of his comrades. With a sudden upsurge of inspiration for further humiliation, the one who had spoken leapt up and whipped out his cell phone. "Let's put this up online," he leered, and the others roared with enthusiasm at the thought of the man who had beaten up their brothers, cousins, friends, and fathers in their family of their gang, getting sodomized on the Internet for all to see…

The man with the carving knife continued, looking down at the Batman's limp manhood that clearly gave testament to the contrary of what the other had said before.

"…at any rate, he won't be for long," he murmured, remembering the final stage of the plan that involved his knife and the object of his attention.

xxx

Joker waltzed down the pier, counting in his head. _So that's one for each city council member, five for each high school principal, seven for each court justice, twelve for Gordon, twenty for the mayor…_

Then, he paused at the sudden upsurge of yelling from a distance away that broke his concentration of calculating poison dosages. Not that he had planted the toxins yet, that was the plan for tomorrow! Tonight, well…he had a nice lovely little family of dead cop, wife, and kids for Batsy to find. If he couldn't get the Batman's attention for the sake of the desires he knew they both harbored, then their chosen roles in the universe would have to suffice.

The shouts of delight and glee were what caught him off-balance – usually the only one who had this much fun at this hour was, well, _himself_. Especially for displaying it this vocally. So, drawn to laughter as he always was, he decided to investigate.

The group from far away made him arch a brow in interest. It was just your average gang-rape. Oral sodomy, and ooh…penetration with a knife? Hmm. Well, it was quite a restless night for him tonight, and the poison plot had to wait until tomorrow, and the Bat _still_ hadn't showed up at 1449 Sycamore to discover the dead family, so as long as he had nothing better to do…

Hmm…eighteen aggressors, full of arrogance and presumed immortality. Those were always his favorite to crack, unraveling so nicely with just the right amount of honeyed tongue and bloodied knife. And then the helpless victim, horribly traumatized of course…now _that_ would prove some fun, too. Maybe a scar story would do well here…as for what it would be, he had no idea, for among his greatest jokes were the ones told off the cuff.

It was when he had taken about ten steps forward, still fifty or so feet away from the spectacle, when his eyes relayed to him just why the Batman hadn't showed up at 1449 Sycamore yet.

They. Were Raping. _His. Batman._

_His Batman._

They were raping-

-Batman-

-_his_-

They-Batman-_his_-raping-_Batman_werehisraping_HISBATMAN_

He was barely conscious of his instantaneous reaction as his switchblade flew to his hand from his jacket sleeve, his feet sending him flying towards the men before him as a scream that he hadn't consciously registered left his mouth.

The men were shaking in their uncontrollable fits of laughter as one of them whipped out his cell phone, about to push record on the video button…

…when a wild force in purple grabbed him from behind, sawing roughly through his throat as an inhuman scream of white hot _fury_ echoed around them.

They jumped as their minds suspended disbelief, rendering them incapable of reacting in the split second required to have gained even a _chance_ of surviving the hell-bent wrath of the Joker that hurtled into their midst.

He roared, slashing wildly and without restraint at the men that feebly attempted to surround him, tearing meat from bone like butter. One tried to grab his forgotten knife up off the ground where they had pitched them after hacking away the armor, but before he could even get two inches close to the blade another dark crimson blade had torn through his shoulder, dislocating the ball and socket joint before finishing the job at the man's jugular. Without even pausing, he stabbed through the air, taking out another's eyeball and plunging further still into his brain before letting the knife go and instantly grabbing another from his sleeve. Three ran at him then, followed closely by four more, but nothing could have prepared them for the storm of murderous chaos that awaited them. The Joker was out for blood, for _their_ blood, and any attempts of surprising him or aiming a blow at his head were vanquished by the sheer unpredictability of his own assaults. The adrenaline and instinct and pure _fury_ that fired him could not be traced, patterned, or ordered, and they found enormous pain erupting from the most unlikely of places, before either a well-placed slice or the constant assault of blows and tears ended their breathing forever.

The Joker, while strong enough to hold his own in a one-on-one match with Batman, had no formal martial arts training. While sneaky and stealthy, he was no ninja. But simply taking them out in the most effective way possible was not his purpose. For what that purpose was, his methods were the most effective of anyone else's.

He was _punishing_ them.

In the only barely intact piece of his mind that remained, the mantra of _they-Batman-raping-they-were-my-Batman-raping-Batman-my-Batman _played on loop through his head, further instilling his animalistic screams and bludgeoning of the attackers. He truly was the mad dog chasing cars now, making sure every car he set his sights on was taken out of commission permanently.

Finally, only two remained: the leading young man, and the man with the carving knife. Both attempted to run away, but he tackled them on the spot, slamming all three of them into the red cargo crate nearest them. In their disoriented scuffle, he grabbed the carving knife gushing crimson, and tore it into its owner's skull, slicing up and down to drill a solid hole through the man's head, up to an inch in diameter.

The body was then shoved to the side, and he pinned down the final aggressor, the leader, with his offending cock still in plain view. The memories of the night at the MCU then flooded through the gates of Joker's memory, and that juxtaposed with the sight of where this particular phallus had _been_ not moments ago was enough to bring to his mind what he had to do.

The carving knife found its way to exposed pubic hair, slowly raking through flesh at the base as the man screamed for all he was worth. Which, to the Joker, was absolutely nothing. He took the knife along a jagged course, not a clean cut, knowing at each moment when he wanted his victim to scream louder. Then, the last flap of skin was sawed through, and the blasphemous detached penis fell to the ground in a shower of blood. The castrated man was sobbing and screaming so loudly now, but it wasn't enough. The knife was brought upwards from the pelvis, shearing through flesh, sinew, muscle, intestines, through the stomach, up to the chest, even scratching the ribs until delving into the heart. The man's screams were becoming more ragged and weak now, but the pain was still clearly felt, for he could see it in the pleading black eyes. His pleas were answered with a thrust of the knife through his left eye, causing a few more bleats from the man's throat. The offending throat was then blasted through with the knife, before sawing the blade back and forth until all that remained of the man's neck was the red-and-pink stained vertebra, standing spindly between ribs and skull.

Joker's screams abated. His knife (now _his_) stilled. His whole body was shaking from the continued momentum of his rage, but it now crumbled away, leaving nothing but the panting body of its host, green eyes still ablaze with its aftereffects. For however long he knelt there above the butchered carcass, breath heaved rapidly through his nose and mouth, fighting for enough breath to still his racing and numbed mind.

___Raping-they-MY-Batman-they-were-Batman-MINE-they-raping-Bat_…man…

…_Batman…_

His sight bounced back to him from faraway as the thought of his soulmate flooded into the center stage of his thoughts once again. He turned behind him.

Batman lay several yards away from him, completely collapsed on his front, bare for all but the armor on his arms and lower legs. His cape was ruined. The severed pieces of armor lay scattered around him. Blood pooled beneath him.

Joker bolted up and raced over to him. When he was about two yards away, he slowed to a walk, almost one of caution. The image before him was tearing his world apart, and all he knew was that he had to fix this as soon as possible. All thoughts of poison and dead cops were long gone from his head.

He went to retrieve the strewn plates of Kevlar from around the still form of his Bat. He kept watching him out of the corner of his eye to keep him in his sights and access his condition. He was very much the worse for wear, and the only movement issuing from him was his quick, shallow breathing, accompanied by the occasional quiver of his muscles. It could have been worse. Oh, it could have been much worse.

He returned to Batman's prostrate form and began reattaching the armor as best he could. After seeing the outfit almost every night for as many years as he had, he was quite familiar with the placement of the different plates, and where each connected with the others, how the seams lined up. The mesh underneath was a lost cause, so tattered in ribbons it would have to be reconstructed from scratch, so the sparse coverings of separated plates was the best he could do for now.

He was careful around his ass, having seen what had happened, pausing for half a second as he considered wiping away the mess of blood that still oozed there. But he decided against it; it was certainly not in either one of their best interests by irritating Batman with a sexual gesture, even if intended as helpful.

Bruce felt dead. He was dragging through time, not floating or spinning. The world was collapsing around him. All montages of memory were swirled now into one single video clip, where his father dropped the wallet as Rachel slapped him as he leapt at Harvey as he flipped Joker over the edge of the Prewitt Building…

He twitched suddenly as soft touches felt their way across his armored back, snapping all the plates into place, the plates he hadn't remembered reattaching. But there they were. And now arms were making to lift him up, to attach his armor that had been stripped from his front. Unable to lift him on their own, he obliged to help, clinging onto the purple sleeve as he painfully repositioned himself into sitting up on his heels.

…purple sleeve…

The recognition jolted him, and his heart surged faster with dread. The Joker had found him. The Joker had seen him in this vulnerable state. _The Joker_…

…who was now refitting the detached plates of armor onto his stomach and legs, going about the work wordlessly and methodically. No grin was produced, no giggles at his enemy's weakness were uttered. Nothing. It surprised him just how much Joker was focused on the task at hand, and how familiar he was with his armor. Such a notion, that he _knew his suit_, set him on edge more than he could admit.

But what he couldn't admit even more was that he wouldn't rather have any other person on the planet to have found him.

Saved him.

His mind halted at that thought as suddenly he felt a pressure on his groin, as Joker reattached the final piece of armor, saving that one for last for reasons of his own. And suddenly Bruce's mind was on overload. He couldn't speak, couldn't breathe, could barely move beyond rolling his eyes back behind suddenly closed lids as he attempted in vain to cry out, to release the overpowering intangible sensation he was feeling into one single syllable. But it proved impossible, for his vocal cords resisted the flow of air, as if knowing any possible sound's inferiority to its meaning.

Joker watched his reaction as his eyes softened in understanding. For he knew exactly what Bruce was experiencing. He had felt it himself, those many nights ago, on top of the MCU.

He removed his hand, and Bruce slowly came back to himself. His eyes stared blankly at the heavens, before lowering his head, closing his eyes once more. Joker watched as he shook slightly, apparently chilled even while newly encased within his armor. He stared at the bowed head of his Batman, his _Bruce_, whose dark chocolate locks and strongly-set forehead were now no more a mystery than his blue eyes, prominent chin, and luscious lips. It was a sight he hadn't yet had the opportunity to gaze upon before, and now he drank it in entirely, satisfying his thirst for the man beneath the mask that he was sure he was never to see again.

It was then it dawned on him just what his shaking and closed eyes meant. Upon this realization, Joker reached for the last piece of Kevlar, and slid the eared cowl over Bruce's head, completing Batman once more.

Batman stilled at the feel of his mask upon his head again. He slowly opened his eyes and brought them to Joker's, looking at him for the first time in a week. And what he found there was the furthest thing from what he had expected. The green irises were almost riddled with…concern. Such a solemn focus that it took him a while to adjust to seeing such an expression being leveled at him from that hideous painted face, with those same smiling scars that were the last example that his real mouth was going to follow anytime soon.

He realized that tears were still welling up in his eyes, and he looked down again to blink them away. But Joker's thumb then came to rest below his left eye, and his movements stilled once more. The clown leaned closer to him, resting his forehead on his, attempting to regain eye contact while Batman flatly refused to reciprocate.

At length, the killer quietly spoke. "Where's your bike?"

His thoughts started at the sudden question, and he struggled to remember where he had parked his Batpod so many lifetimes ago before he had chased the man to the pier. The pier…

The pier was where he had started out tonight, tracking the mob's latest drug shipment before busting them at one of their family-owned restaurants. So that would mean…

"…two blocks south," he barely whispered, finding it difficult to achieve any sort of intimidating growl. There was no reason to hide his true voice from the Joker now, anyway.

Joker exhaled deeply, ready for his next move. "C'mon," he urged, placing his hands on Batman's torso, pulling them both to their feet. Batman found himself taking the purple gloved hands, but cried out slightly upon attempting to stand. The pain in his ass was _horrific_, beyond any other physical injury he had sustained in his entire life. His eyes squeezed shut against the involuntary tears that stung his eyes, not wanting to reveal them to Joker, but the clown continued unhindered, determined to keep his Bat moving. Slowly they both reached standing positions, and together they hobbled off to the south, Batman leaning against Joker for support.

It was slow going, and Batman was sure he wasn't going to make it, so tremendous was his pain and the constricting feeling on his throat as the impact of what had just occurred to him minutes ago began to sink in. Joker didn't speak a word to him, simply urged him forward, struggling slightly with the heavier man's weight being supported on his body, but gave no signs of protest.

When they reached the Batpod, somehow they managed to get Batman positioned upon it. There were many cries and near-screams of pain as his legs were forced apart to clamber on top of the bike, but at last he was laying flat upon his machine. He mentally thanked Lucius for designing the bike so he wouldn't have to sit upright upon it, but rather lay almost horizontally on top of it, for better distribution of weight. He breathed heavily on top of the Batpod, his arm still draped around Joker's shoulders, not having yet made the conscious effort to remove it.

Joker brought his hand to rest on top of Batman's arm. "Go home," he intoned. The dead family could wait, and it could even be thrown to the morgue by the cops, for all he cared at this point. He knew now that he wouldn't be seeing Batman for a while now, maybe even a few months, while he recuperated physically from his ordeal. Psychologically recuperating, on the other hand, was not a factor. For all of the Batman's psychological pain was carried out fresh on the streets every night with him, fueling his fight. His only limitations now were his physical injuries.

But at least the time off for Batman meant a few months of more leisurely chaos on his own agenda. It would give him some time to digest what he himself had learned tonight, regarding the face beneath the mask.

He then noticed Batman had snapped his head towards him, and was staring at him in shock at his previous command. For he couldn't believe that those words would _ever_ be uttered from that same scarred mouth. The Joker _always_ egged him on, _always_ wanted more, _always_ needed him to keep going in his fight. For him to want his nemesis to _go home_, and _take time off_, and _rest_…much less to _order_ him home for a vacation…

He used his arm around the clown to draw him closer to him, pausing momentarily before realizing all bets were off anyway, and softly bringing him into a kiss. Joker, not expecting the gesture, jumped slightly with surprise, then melted. He closed his eyes into the kiss, moving his own lips up around Batman's, bringing his hands to the sides of his enemy's face. For the third blissful moment of their lives, they hung together in abandonment, letting the world melt away into the stirring heat they knew was unique to the two of them, in a class by themselves.

But this kiss, Joker knew, was also unique in its own right. Though it was the third kiss that Batman had bestowed upon his adversary, the first one had been out of a frustrated _Oh yeah, just watch me_; the second had been doused in apologies and sorrow; and this one…

…this kiss spoke of nothing but pure, honest-to-goodness gratitude.

And he took it just as wholeheartedly as it was meant by its sender.

Finally, they broke apart, much later than either one expected to. Once again, they hovered millimeters away, with the same microscopic puff of an exhale that tickled Batman's lips as Joker gasped with the wholeness he experienced at each such contact. Their eyes remained gently closed, breathing in each other's breath, until Batman softly broke the silence.

"Thank you."

Joker's grin finally returned on a small scale, and his eyelashes batted up with a half-meant amusement. "Now we're even, I guess," he remarked.

Batman's eyes snapped open at his words, flashing back to what he meant. He had saved Joker almost six months ago from near-certain death in the burning apartment complex, then had supplied him with a new (if false) hope for the future with the first kiss. Then he had, three weeks later, restored his defenses and symbolism on top of the MCU. And now Joker…

Joker released his arm from his shoulders gently, and he started up the Batpod and took off, the madman once again left in his wake.

But as Bruce zoomed home in the dawning light, contemplating what he had to tell Alfred and what he most certainly would never tell to the end of his days, he was quite painfully sure of one thing.

They weren't even. Not by a long shot. Not with all that the Joker had just done for him.

Not yet.

* * *

**A/N: Well, this one has actually been in my head for a few months now, but there was never the appropriate time to fit it in. I just recently decided to have it fit in with the SAD and AftW storyline, and there are two more installments to come in this now-five-part story. And there will be pronz. Lots and lots of pronz. Just not yet. Not till the end. :)**

**And I'm sorry if this squicked you out or whatnot, but I've really always wondered what would happen if something like this really did happen to Bruce. I mean, he's going around kicking criminal ass every night for years, and he's bound to make some enemies. And they don't have to be the Joker to scheme of a way to spring a trap for him. It was really just sheer dumb luck that they caught him at a moment that he was distracted by thinking about Ra's. And there's gotta be lots of people in Gotham who feel they have a score to settle with him, Joker aside. He hangs out with the worst of humanity every night, so…just wondering, if it DID happen, this is my take on how it might play out with slash included. Because you've gotta include slash. :D**

**Sooo, getting about time for me to go to school on no sleep, so I'll be wrapping this up now. Toodles! And if you'd like to tell me your thoughts in a review (or PM, I'm friendly :), that would be great.**

**Oh, and I don't own Kanye West (or he would have kept his mouth shut at Taylor Swift's acceptance speech), or Leo DiCaprio (God, I WISH I owned him…and I just couldn't resist a nod to Inception, could I? :3)**


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